Page 106 of The Sin Binder's Chains

Silas

I am a fucking legend. Calm. Cool. Collected. A vision of effortless swagger, an icon of unshakable composure. The epitome of a man who is definitely not completely, irreversibly, and catastrophically obsessed with Luna Evernight.

Nope. Not me. Not anymore.

I’ve done it. Mastered myself. Evolved past my primal, hormone-driven need to make a complete embarrassment out of myself every time she breathes near me. I have ascended.

And then.

Then. She rubs her hand up my arm.

My fucking arm.

Not in a passing, absent-minded way. Not in a casual, meaningless way. No, she drags her fingers up my forearm, slow and deliberate, like she’s testing the shape of me, like she’s making some kind of goddamn study out of my skin.

I die instantly.

Brain? Gone. Body? Useless. Soul? Fucking obliterated.

I don’t move. I can’t move, because every single neuron in my body has short-circuited in real-time, and all I can do is stand here, malfunctioning, while she keeps touching me like this is some kind of normal interaction.

And then.

Oh, gods, she leans in just a little, tilting her head, her lips curving like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me, like she’s enjoying this, like she’s…

I make a noise.

A noise. Not a cool, detached chuckle. Not an easy, unaffected exhale. No. It’s worse. It’s so much worse. Some godforsaken, half-strangled, breathy thing that escapes me before I can lock my shit down, Luna stops.

Oh, no.

She blinks up at me, head tilting slightly. “Did you just-”

“No.” Immediate. Loud. Absolutely not.

Her lips part, and I see it, the realization, the dawning horror of what just happened, the shift from innocent curiosity to vicious, soul-ending amusement, and fuck me.

She smirks.

I am going to die.

She drags her fingers down this time, featherlight, like she’s testing a theory, and I swear to every god in existence, I do not whimper.

I don’t.

I do not fucking whimper.

But she grins like I did. Like I just signed my death warrant, and oh no, she’s enjoying this too much, she’s about to-

“So…” Her voice is way too soft, way too pleased with itself. “I make you nervous?”

I scoff. I scoff. Like a man in charge of his destiny, like a man not currently on the verge of catastrophic system failure.

“Nervous?” I repeat, slouching back, doing my best to look like I have not, in fact, just experienced the single most devastating touch of my entire life. “Please, sweetheart, you don’t intimidate me.”

Her smirk deepens. “No?”

“Nope.”

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